


The Great Glitter Gang Heist of 221B - An Interlude

by Ewebie



Series: Glitter Gang Shenanigans [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But we were just friends... gasp, Drunken messes, F/F, F/M, Just Fuck Already, M/M, Magical Realism, References to Jim Moriarty, References to Sebastian Moran, What even is reality, do not copy to another site, meme references, the crackiest of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-15 16:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18076541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: “Irish?”“Hmm?” It was little more than a grunt from my seat at the break room table.He fiddled with the kettle before clicking it on. “You back in here again?”“For my sins…” I took a sip of my coffee and gave him a wry smile. “And what have I told you about calling me that, you little idiot?”“Oi!”“Turn about and something, something,” I muttered. God I hadn’t had enough caffeine yet.He shook his head. “You look like hell.”“Ta.”





	The Great Glitter Gang Heist of 221B - An Interlude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamlockk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/gifts).



> I've long had a standing structure for GGH 4. But rather than getting stuck in with the bulk of a BIG crack fic, I am doing an interlude. I got bit hard and desperately needed to work out this ridiculous plot bunny. Sorry, not sorry. This is the bridge to take us over to GGH4. But if you're not familiar with GGH (particularly GGH3) it may make no sense at all... Even if you ARE familiar... it may still make no sense.
> 
> ... This is all Jam's fault.

“Irish?”

“Hmm?” It was little more than a grunt from my seat at the break room table.

He fiddled with the kettle before clicking it on. “You back in here again?”

“For my sins…” I took a sip of my coffee and gave him a wry smile. “And what have I told you about calling me that, you little idiot?”

“Oi!”

“Turn about and something, something,” I muttered. God I hadn’t had enough caffeine yet.

He shook his head. “You look like hell.”

“Ta.”

“Tired,” he waved a hand vaguely in my direction. “You’re not burning the candle at both ends again are you?”

I broke off a chunk of tea biscuit and tossed it at his head. “Pot, Kettle.”

“Who’s the child now?”

I stuck my tongue out at him and flipped a whole biscuit to him. He caught it and dunked it into his fresh tea. “I had a long week of nights and an unexpectedly long day yesterday that I hadn’t planned for. If Sarah wasn’t desperate, and I hadn’t promised her last week, and the kids didn’t hate you…”

“Kids don’t hate me.”

“Because you relate to them so well,” I smirked.

“Oi!” he tossed a piece of biscuit at me.

I caught it and ate it. Ok, fine. I was being childish.

“E? Your next one is in.”

I sighed and downed what was left of my coffee. “Once more and all that…”

“Pint tonight?”

“I dunno.” I frowned at the empty mug. “I’m totally wrecked.”

“I’m buying?”

“You’re the devil,” I muttered.

“I owe you at least one,” he tilted his head. “And we haven’t really had a chance to… catch up. Not properly. Since, you know.”

“John, you have one waiting.”

I gave him a quick nod. “Yeah, alright. When and where?”

John finished what must have been still scalding tea. “There’s a good place just around the corner. Walk over at five?”

I glared at him.

“Six? It can’t take you that long to finish your charts.”

“Six. And at least I know how to type, Mr. Fancy Pants Blogger.”

“Oi!”

I dodged the last bit of biscuit as I headed back to work through my list.

 

~

 

“Here,” John handed me the pint as he slid into the booth.

“What’s this now?”

“A beer,” he said flatly. “I know it’s not a Guinness, but you may just like it anyway.”

I swatted at him. “You’re incorrigible. Next you’ll be throwing a potato at me and asking for jigs.”

“I like potatoes.”

“I’m sure you do.”

His face twisted into an odd expression. “Look, I’m sorry I harp on about the Irish thing. I had a bad run in with a crazy Irish bastard, and every once in a while, your accent catches me off guard.”

I leveled him with the most serious glare I could muster. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t even own semtex.”

He choked on his beer. “Not funny.”

“Not intended to be. But look, help me out here. What twigs it for you? Is it something I say?”

He shrugged; I didn’t buy it and he could see it in my expression. “Every now and then, you have a brogue. And if I’m not paying attention, it just…” he trailed off and wrinkled his nose.

“Rubs you the wrong way?”

“Yeah. Yes, that.”

“Yeah. Right. Ok,” I stared at my beer for a moment. “I guess just, póg mo thóin then.”

“Hey now.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m also kinda crazy.”

John chuckled.

“That I’m Irish is a passing coincidence. Besides, you’re totally one to talk.”

“What?”

“What do you mean what? You’re living a crazy life, mate.”

“I live a perfectly ordinary…”

“Don’t you dare!” I tipped my pint glass at him. “Ordinary people don’t assume all Irish people have semtex.”

“You’re not old enough to understand.”

“Feck off,” I grumbled. “There hasn’t been a week gone by since I’ve known you that you haven’t been kidnapped, assaulted, in some sort of altercation, something something something for a case, doused in glitter in some capacity. And that’s not even addressing your last ‘little adventure,’ which left you sparkling!”

“Who’s sparkling?”

I glanced up as Lestrade set down his own pint and settled into the booth next to me. Great. Just fucking great. I heaved a sigh. “Not him, and certainly not you. You here to arrest me again?”

His grin was all teeth and not completely amused. “Should I be?”

I threw my hands up. “Can I live?!”

“Wait,” John interrupted. “You arrested E? What, why?”

His smile shifted. It looked like the kind you’d put on for cameras and interviews. “No reason,” he put his arm around my shoulder. “Upstanding citizen, this one. Pillar of the community.”

“Oh shove off.” I shifted out from under his arm. “That was the second time. _Second_! Time. That you misjudged me in a matter of weeks.”

“Oh, it’s not just me,” he countered. “I doubt I would have come up with it if Mycroft hadn’t-“

“Mycroft had you arrested?!” John looked completely taken aback.

“Wrongly!” I pointed at Lestrade. “I was fucking working!”

“The notes were in her hand writing!” Lestrade countered.

“Whose?” John blurted out.

“Her weird, little friend,” Lestrade offered.

“Hey!”

“The Scottish one?”

“Yup, that’s the one,” Lestrade sat back and took a swig of his pint.

“Leave her out of this! I’ve been friends with Jam for years.”

John’s face twisted and he tried to hide it behind a quick pull of beer. “You don’t think your life has gotten weirder knowing her?”

“John, my life was grand before I knew you. In all the years I’ve known Jam, things still made sense. And not once. Not. Once. Had I been arrested, or pressganged into a car with a creepy dude, or had to negotiate on the phone with some lab, or met with some sort of bodyguard menace, or had friends shrink to children, until I met you!”

John stared at me silently.

“Did you just refer to Mycroft as a creepy dude?”

I rolled my eyes at Lestrade. “I did.” The outrage was only half-fake, but I dropped my voice. Probably shouldn’t be shouting in the middle of a pub. “Since we’ve met, John, I have had to deal with the most insane things and most unreasonable people I’ve ever come across, in my life.”

“Leave Sherlock out of this.”

“Sherlock? I wasn’t even…” I shook my head. “Do you know that guy Kevin?”

John shifted uncomfortably as Lestrade hummed thoughtfully. “Was he the one running around and covered in flour?”

“Yup.”

John winced. “He started that whole mess.”

“That whole mess came from Baskerville.”

“He brought the box,” John muttered.

I sighed. “He did. Apparently three times. But that’s not the point. His uncle, right? Kevin’s uncle has a bodyguard that makes my blood run cold. Worse still, the guy has my number.”

“Kevin has your number?” John smirked.

“Yeah, and I get these texts with pictures of him and that damn cat. But his uncle’s bodyguard has my number too all thanks to that… cupcake thing.” I took a swig of my beer, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

“Who’s his uncle that he has a bodyguard?” Lestrade mused.

“Haven’t actually met him, thank God. But, Lord, does he have a grotesquely violent vocabulary. And his bodyguard… Full on fight or flight when he’s around.” I shuddered.

John hummed thoughtfully. “Anyone I would know?”

“The civilized person in me wants to say no, but then again, you probably do. Some bloke named Seb.”

“Not Wilkes,” John frowned.

“Dunno. I just know his name is Seb. Big, blond guy. Post-serum Steve, but grins like a shark that’s about to eat you.”

“Steve? I thought you said his name was Seb.”

I blinked at Lestrade. “Have you never heard of the Avengers? Jesus, do you get out ever?”

“No, wait,” John tapped the table firmly with his index finger. “Military? English?”

“Mercenary maybe,” I offered. “But yeah. Probably military. Makes my skin crawl.”

“Seb. Sebastian?” John continued as if I hadn’t interrupted. “Sebastian Moran. The Moran?”

“I dunno. It’s not like Kevin ever calls him anything other than Seb. Or like, one time, he called him Uncle Jim’s tiger? If that’s not super creepy.”

“E, for the love of God, please tell me you haven’t met Moran!”

“He wanted his cat back?” I shrugged. “It’s not like I wanted to meet with him. But then he had to collect Kevin, and the kitten, and had another pseudo kid at home, because apparently Uncle Jim opened one of the boxes as well.”

“Jim?” The blood drained from John’s face.

“Um…” I drummed my fingers nervously along the pint glass. “Kevin’s uncle – Uncle Jim – Dude once threatened to make a throw pillow of my entrails.”

“Irish, soft voice?”

“I mean…” I thought about it. “Maybe. He liked to make vague threats. I don’t know, I don’t really hear an Irish accent.”

“Christ, E!”

“What?! These people came into my life through you!”

“I can’t believe you’ve seen Moran.”

“Yeah, well… he wanted his cat back. And the other time-“

“Other time?! Jesus!”

“Don’t yell at me!” I hissed. “He’s a creepy prick. Do you know he told me that he’d ‘see me around’?! I barely slept for a week!”

John ran his palm down his face. “Moran,” he began slowly. “Is a war criminal. He’s a ruthless, bloody bastard, and he works for Jim Moriarty.”

“What?”

“Yeah. And as far as I know, outside of his whole operation, you and I are the only people to have actually met Sebastian Moran. And lived to tell about it.”

I stared at John. “I…” Uncle Jim. Kevin’s uncle Jim was Jim Moriarty. The Jim Moriarty. The Moriarty that stole the crown jewels and the one who had… Well, semtex and Irish… And he… Oh God. I tried to bite back the laugh, but I wasn’t entirely successful. It started out as a light snicker, but quickly devolved into semi-hysterical giggles. “Oh God.”

“E?”

“Oh my God,” I laughed.

“What’s wrong with her?” Lestrade asked, giving me a bit of space in the booth.

I glanced up at Lestrade with tears in my eyes. “Uncle Jim,” I squeaked and burst out laughing again.

“How on earth is that funny?” Lestrade leaned out of the booth and gestured to the barman.

John shrugged, but I managed to regain control of my voice for a moment. “It’s funny, because you can’t count.”

“I can’t count?” Lestrade echoed.

“Oh God, I’m not drunk enough for this,” I giggled. “How many cupcakes?”

“Half dozen,” John said flatly.

I bit my lip and nodded. “For?”

“Me, Sherlock.” He glanced at Lestrade. “Mycroft, your friend Jam. And Kevin.”

“And?”

The barman set three shots in the middle of our table and disappeared. What fantastic timing.

“And,” John squinted at me.

“And Uncle Jim,” I said gleefully and downed one of the shots. Oh good, it was whiskey. “Who, incidentally,” I chased it with some beer. “Had a horrible lisp as a child.”

John stared at me. It felt like he was reevaluating everything he had known about me, and perhaps people in general. I really was a horrible representation of Irishness. Without looking away, John picked up one of the shots and threw it back, replacing the glass near silently on the table. Then he folded his hands together and continued to stare at me.

“He had a lisp,” Lestrade muttered. He blinked a few times, shook his head, and downed the remaining shot. “I think prudence dictates…” He stuck his arm out and signaled for another round.

“So,” John started carefully. “Let me see if I have this straight. You,” he raised a brow. “Have met with one of the most dangerous war criminals left in Britain, on more than one occasion.”

“Not by choice.”

“And have had one.” One of his eyes twitched as he corrected. “More than one phone conversation with fucking Moriarty. You know, and apparently socialize with his nephew.”

“I don’t-“

The expression on his face went dark. “And your good friend, who you’ve known for ages, has a habit of breaking into people’s flats and government buildings and redecorating with large amounts of glitter and post-it notes.” He leaned forward slightly. “Do I have that right? Is that the whole of it?”

“I mean… Yes?”

“Christ,” John rubbed his face. “Greg, you were right.”

“I was?”

“Yeah. She should be locked up.”

“Hey!” I objected. “How is this my fault? My life was grand before you and your crazy leaked into it.”

John snorted.

“No. No, I’d bet that when you were all five years old and Lestrade here was like, ‘I will throw you both out the window,’ you turned to Mycroft and said ‘Go get E. She’s nice to kids.’”

Lestrade tried to smother a laugh. “I didn’t threaten to throw them out the window.”

“No,” John muttered. “You said you’d handcuff Sherlock upside down from the banister.”

Lestrade scoffed. “It would have been worth the bruised shins. Speaking of, your friend kicked me.”

“You yelled at her.”

“Do you have any idea what she told Mycroft?”

Oh, I knew. “No?”

“I’m going to guess it was something along the lines of ‘Just fuck already’,” John said slowly.

I giggled. John shook his head at me, but I couldn’t stop. “Did she really?!”

“You better believe she did,” Lestrade nearly sloshed beer out of his pint glass when he gestured. “And me!”

I burst out laughing again. “She told Mycroft Holmes to ‘Just Fuck Already’?!”

John snickered. “I’m sure it was with a proper Scotch brogue.”

“Oh she did. Both when she was in the car with him, and when he was,” Lestrade held his hand out at waist height.

“She told an Adult. Mycroft. Holmes to-“ I couldn’t finish. I was laughing too hard.

Lestrade huffed. “It’s not funny.”

“Not if ye didn’t!” I covered my mouth with one hand to muffle the laughter but it wasn’t terribly effective.

Lestrade turned a bright shade of crimson and John pointed with a whoop. “Oh God, you did!”

“Shut it,” Lestrade grumbled.

“Oh God.” John cracked up. “Oh no! I can’t delete that!”

“I thought you were supposed to be an upstanding citizen,” I chided Lestrade. “But there you go, fucking the British Government.”

Lestrade was shaking his head, but he couldn’t hide the amusement. And a moment later, he was laughing along with us. The barman set a fresh round of shots on the table and eyed us cautiously. Nothing like a group of rowdy adults getting langered together in a pub. I tapped my pint and swirled my finger and he nodded back. Maybe the rounds of shots should stop.

Lestrade sighed and made significant headway into his pint. “So how exactly do you know her?”

“Who, Jam?”

“Yeah,” John nodded. “You never did tell me that.”

“Neither did you,” I smirked at him.

“Oh, that’s easy.” He gave a smile that some might think was pleased, but actually looked a bit menacing. “She was hiding under my bed.”

I choked on my beer. It was a huge battle between spitting it all over the table and managing to swallow it, and I ended up sputtering for the better part of a minute.

Lestrade clapped me on the back. “Alright?”

I shook my head but waved him off. “Under your bed?!” I wheezed.

“Yup. Just after she decorated my entire flat with glitter and weird green flowers.”

I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Don’t forget the post-it notes,” Lestrade chimed in.

“Oh. Of course, I couldn’t forget those. The post-it notes. In her writing. Because she wrote them. And stuck them up. On every vertical surface that couldn’t hold glitter or flowers.”

I had reached the point of laughing so hard that I couldn’t breathe. “H-ho-how?”

“What?”

“How?” I coughed out. “How did she even get in?”

John squinted at Lestrade. Lestrade offered an empty-handed wave in return. “Not entirely sure,” John said slowly.

“B-but. But under your bed?!”

“Forget that,” Lestrade leaned forward. “You’re completely neglecting the fact that there’s no way she managed that all by her lonesome.”

“I don’t know. I feel like she might have been able to.”

“No,” I flapped my hand. “No, no, no. There’s no way. There’s NO way!”

“That’s why we arrested them all,” Lestrade said flatly.

“All?” John’s head tilted.

“You arrested a bunch of my friends who weren’t even near your flat!” I complained.

“I don’t believe any one of you are at all innocent,” Lestrade poked a finger at me.

“Hey!”

“No, look. There’s the one who was prancing around Buckingham Palace. How did she get in there?”

“Fleur?” I shook my head at him. “She probably pirouetted in. Kissed one of the guards on the cheek. Worked for you.”

Lestrade flushed and finished the last of his pint in a quick slug. “That’s not fair. What about the one spray painting and vandalizing the better part of London?”

“Who was doing that?”

I bit my lip for all of two beats before I blurted out, “No she wasn’t.”

John set his pint slowly on the table. “Who?”

I grinned. “No, Nicole. Nicole was taking part in Cans. Who was on the bakeoff.”

John sighed. “Christ.”

“And you had that lawyer show up,” Lestrade, picked up one of the shots, eyeing it before continuing. “She’s a shark.”

“Darcy?” I scoffed and went back to my pint. “Darcy cuddles her dog and writes beautiful prose. She’s a great barrister, but she’s not a shark.”

“And that tech person?”

“Lesley? Lesley knows Derren Brown.”

“Derren Brown?”

“You know,” I nudged the shot glass over to John. “The guy who makes people fall asleep on stage and believe new things.”

“I don’t know these people,” John muttered.

“Jesus, get out sometime.” I finished my pint.

“What about that one that was over in France?” Lestrade continued to toy with the shot.

“Alex?” I shook my head. “Alex was legitimately volunteering in Calais. I can’t believe you thought Alex would do anything wrong.”

“Wait, no. Which one is Alex?”

“The cheeky shit that mouthed off to Myc and dropped off the cupcakes.” Lestrade gave up and downed the shot.

“The one that pretended to be a copper?”

“What?” Lestrade sputtered.

“Pretty sure that’s the one that dressed up like a cop when we were over in Cardiff,” John finally threw back his shot.

“Ok, but Alex is training to be a doctor.” I finished my pint.

“Oh right, because you two are the epitome of sanity.”

I picked up the remaining shot. “That’s totally unfair.” I finished the whiskey and all that was left on the table were the dregs of John’s pint. “Besides, when did this become ‘Pick on E’s Friends’ night?”

“When you still haven’t told us how you met Jam.” John finished his beer in time for the next round of pints.

I waited for the barman to leave with the empties before I gave John my sweetest smile. His expression said he didn’t buy it. “I was over in UCL for a seminar. And you know that revolving door on the side with the thing?”

“’Course.” John nodded.

“I was… trying to get in, and there was this crazy person in the door. Just going around and around and around. And I just happened to have the seminar book, so I shoved it into the door and Jam fell out.”

John and Lestrade just stared.

“I mean, I was a bit worried about her, so I went over and offered her a hand up and she just laughed and said something about curly wurlys. And boom. Friends.”

Lestrade gaped. “She was… stuck in the door?”

“Yeah. Oh yeah.” I nodded. “She does that all the time. I don’t actually know how she gets anywhere.”

“Me neither,” Lestrade started in on the pint with a chuckle. “And I’ve seen the tapes!”

I snorted. “Ye did!”

“How did she even get stuck in a tree?”

“It was a hedge.” I reached for my pint. “It’s always a hedge. But did you see whatsherface’s face?”

“Anthea?” Lestrade burst out laughing. “I’m surprised she didn’t kill her!”

“I mean, do you at least believe that we had nothing to do with whatever the hell happened to your flat?”

“Nope. You were involved somehow. In some way.”

I shook my head at him. “There’s a few hedges that would disagree.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “E, please tell me that you didn’t become friends with this person _because_ she was stuck in a door.”

I fake pouted at him. “Sorry. I one hundred percent became her friend because she was stuck in a door. And in a hedge. And in a stream. And in the tube. Why? How do you make friends?”

“Like an adult.”

Lestrade started laughing again. “No you don’t, mate!”

“Look at this big goofy lush, eh?” I patted Lestrade’s shoulder. “But no. You’re not even close to being an adult, John.”

“Not even close,” Lestrade echoed.

John frowned and tried to hide it behind his pint glass.

I jumped as my phone rang, and tugged it free of my pocket with more effort than absolutely necessary. “Ah, speak of the devil.” I connected the line with a grin. “Jam!”

John shook his head at me.

"No, Jam. Slow down… That’s not even English.”

Lestrade leaned closer as if to eavesdrop. I shoved him away.

“I don't think I can come collect you right now. No, I'm... I’m in the middle of something. Besides, I don't even know where you are right now!"

John flicked my pint and took a sip of his.

"What do you mean, you're next to a tree?!"

Lestrade snorted.

"Jam… Jam, No." I sighed and snuck in a quick sip of my beer. "Look, about Dublin... Yes, that Dublin... No, it's still in Ireland... Y-No. You don't need to speak Irish... Jam, please!"

Lestrade started chuckling and buried his face in his palm.

"Yeah, one room is fine. Of course it's fine. I don't mind."

John’s eyebrows shot up and I gave him a rude gesture.

"Well, if there's only one room and there's just the one bed, we can make do. We've done it before."

Lestrade’s chuckle became all out laughter and he leaned across the table to smack John’s arm.

"Wait. No. Jam… No. What do you mean-No! Jam, please stop petting the dog with your phone… Jam?” I pulled back and stared at the screen of my phone. “I think she hung up on me.”

“Maybe the dog hung up on you,” Lestrade snickered.

I rolled my eyes at him.

“So,” John pursed his lips. “You and Jam…”

“Hm?” I pocketed my phone and went back to the beer.

“Just friends?”

I choked on my Guinness and had the vastly unpleasant sensation of some of it going up my nose. “What?”

John shrugged as Lestrade clamped a hand over his mouth to keep the volume of laughter down.

“No,” I pointed deliberately at him. “No. Jam and I are just friends.”

“I didn’t say anything,” John blinked.

“Don’t be a dick. She has a girlfriend.”

John tucked his tongue in his cheek and raised a brow.

“I’m married!” I held up my left hand a wiggled my fingers.

“I don’t think I knew that about you, Irish.”

“Oh my God!”

“I was married,” Lestrade burst out.

“Christ, women can be friends with each other without being… More than friends!”

“But, you were roommates,” John said slowly.

“You know what…”

“And there was only one bed!” Lestrade actually dropped his forehead onto his forearms where they draped across the table.

I groaned. “Fuck both of you.”

“I’m flattered,” John grinned. “But I don’t think I’m your type.”

Lestrade was laughing so hard that there were tears in the corners of his eyes. John finally started to giggle.

“Go choke on a cupcake,” I muttered and signaled for another round of shots.

 

~

 

I groaned before I even bothered to open my eyes. Either I had been hit round the head with rebar, or I’d been drinking with John. Oh no, I smelled like cigarettes. John Watson was the devil. I squinted at my bedside table and instantly thanked my drunken self for the paracetamol and water waiting for me.

“Fuck me,” I pushed up to sitting and waited for the bed to stop moving. Right. I can be an adult. I took a tentative sip of the water then choked down the tablets. Why did I even bother with water? I needed coffee.

I twisted my hair back up into a messy bun and staggered into the kitchen. Coffee. So much coffee. I started the kettle. And propped my elbow on the counter and my head in my hand. “Never drinking again…” The smell of coffee grounds even before I’d boiled the water made me feel better already.

“I highly doubt that, Dr. Murphy.”

“Fuck!” I jumped and cracked my elbow off the corner of the counter. “Mother of God, why?!” I twisted around and saw Mycroft Holmes lounging idly in my sitting room chair.

He tilted his chin up and raised a brow. “If you don’t mind, Gregory is still asleep.”

I stopped rubbing my elbow and started massaging my temples. “Why?”

“I was distressed when Gregory didn’t come home yesterday evening. And yet, I discover he is here. Sleeping-”

“Snoring,” I interrupted.

“On your couch,” he finished. If it was possible to look down your nose at someone while looking up, he achieved it.

“Yeah, well…” The kettle clicked off and I turned to start the coffee. “Coffee?”

“No. Thank you.”

More for me. “So, when we left the pub, if I remember correctly,” I pushed the plunger on the French press. “Sherlock showed up, offended the poor barman that’d been serving us all night, and may have done something inappropriate to John, before dragging him of to, sweet Jesus, I hope home.”

“That is quite more information than I require.”

“You asked.”

“I am certain that I did not.”

“And then Lestrade over there-”

“Gregory.”

“Yeah, Greg. He kept saying that he wanted to cuddle Mikey, but couldn’t give an address other than ‘The Government.’ And since I don’t actually know where he lives, or where you live, and I was pretty sure you didn’t want him going home with John and Sherlock, I just brought him here to sleep it off.” I sipped the coffee. Oh yeah. Coffee.

Mycroft frowned at me.

“You sure you don’t want some coffee?”

“Quite.”

“Look,” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I am…” I was having a chat with Mycroft Holmes while wearing my pjs. Somehow that was too high on the weird-o-meter. “I am going to take this coffee and go back to bed. I fully expect you and Greg to be gone by the time I’m ready to be a human. Since that’ll probably be early afternoon.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, but bit back whatever scathing comment had formed in his mind.

“Right.” I lifted my cup in salute. “Stop breaking into my home.”

“You possess a tremendous sense of irony.”

“Ta.”

I went back to bed.

 

~

 

It was early afternoon when I felt human enough to leave the flat. And I did need to leave the flat, as I had a serious lack of food in and I’d used the last of my coffee. To be honest, the lack of coffee drove me out to the shops more than the food. It wasn’t far to the Tesco, so I didn’t bother with more than jeans and a hoodie. Quick dash to the shops and I could spend the rest of the weekend sleeping off the damage done by drinking with John Watson.

I was so wrapped up in thoughts of my couch and bingeing the next season of Queer Eye, that I didn’t see him until I nearly collided with him. Nearly. I stopped. Just in time.

“Oh! E! Hi! Brilliant!”

I held up both hands. “Kevin.”

“No hugging. Right. No hugging.”

“No. Thank you.”

“I’m so glad I ran into you!”

I blinked at him slowly. What the heck was Kevin doing out here? I glanced around, looking for any signs of that damned cat. “Why? Kevin, were you looking for me?”

“Oh! Yes!”

I frowned. “Really?”

“This is just brilliant! I’m so glad!”

“Why, Kevin?”

The bounciness faded. And he paused, looking as though he was about to say something, but then he pressed his lips together and held his breath. Jesus. He looked as ridiculous doing it as an adult as when he was four.

I shook my head. “Kevin. Stop. Just breathe. Christ!”

He took a deep breath, chuckled, and grinned. “Oh! Whew! That was close.”

I bit back a groan. I was not in the right state of mind for this. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, um, E, I was looking for you.”

I sighed. “Why?” It looked like he was about to hold his breath again, so I cut him off. “Never mind. Just never mind. You found me, anyway.” I held out my hands. “What did you need?”

It was the smallest movement, like a whisper of a breeze. Then pain exploded somewhere behind my ear and everything went black.


End file.
